


Tumblr Drabbles

by Chrisio



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Bowery Beauties - Freeform, College AU, Fluff, Gen, Modern AU, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spromeo - Freeform, Swearing, Tags May Change, idk which one people use, implied nsfw, just a place for me to put all the drabbles that might show up on Tumblr, newsbians, specsromeo - Freeform, sprace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-24 19:04:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13817508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrisio/pseuds/Chrisio
Summary: There's no telling what kind of shit the newsies of New York can get themselves into on a daily basis. This is just part of it.





	1. Never Have I Ever (Crutchie)

**Author's Note:**

> You're not a real fanfic author until you get a Tumblr drabbles story together, amiright
> 
> Kidding, kidding. Anyways.
> 
> Yeah, so, this is just where I'll post stuff if it's a little Tumblr drabble or something. No plans on connecting anything together as of right now, though it may change in the future. We'll just watch what happens (eyyy). If more stuff gets posted, tags will change to reflect everything that's added.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Alright, chucklefucks. My turn!” Race declares. His grin is sharp, and Crutchie feels only a  _slight_  pang of dread hit him in the gut. Across the circle of guys, Race exhales sharply, clearing his throat (and being overall dramatic) before opening his mouth. “Never have I ever-”

With a loud sigh, Spot rolls his eyes and takes a shot.

The entire circle of people freezes, confusion beginning to bleed into the air. Race blinks, mouth open mid-sentence before he shakes off the shock. “…Spotty,” he says slowly, confused but sounding generally amused at the situation. “..y'know I wasn’t done talkin’ yet, right?”

Spot just nods, giving an affirmative hum. “You were gonna target me. Figured I’d get it outta the way.”

Shocked silence is broken with assorted kinds of snickering. “I was not!” Race hmphs, rolling his eyes. There’s laughter, some boys jeering at Race (all in good fun, of course), others harping on Spot for assuming things too early. Crutchie just laughs, enjoying the small burst of chaos generated by the accusation. Race looks stricken, face twisted in a grumpy frown, but everyone knows it’s just for show. Spot definitely does, seeing as he just flashes Race a look before his mouth twists into a smile. “Honestly, Spot, do you have so little faith in me?”

“I’m just sayin’, I  _know_  what you’re like, Tony-”

“And you went and assumed the worst. Typical.” Race sniffs, turning up his nose. Some of the guys snicker at the act, and the boy glances as them out of the corner of his eye before clearing his throat. “ _Right._  As I was  _going_  to say, before I was so  _rudely_  interrupted,” he emphasizes, literally turning his body to give Spot a Look. He sighs, straightening up again and adjusting his shirt hem before announcing, “Never have I ever fantasized about fucking in Jack’s art studio.”

There’s a moment of quiet before the collective dissent begins, with people groaning, sighing, or making cries of shock when they see who takes a shot. To Crutchie’s surprise, Mush, Albert, Henry, and Finch all throw back their drinks, looking disgruntled but breaking into embarrassed laughter a few moments after. As each consecutive person downs their shot, the look of abject disgust on Jack’s face grows. It soon reaches the point of being ridiculous, and now people are hooting at Jack’s expression as well as the victims of the round. “…y'all are disgusting,” Jack says, incredulous, and they all bust out laughing. Jack shakes his head, smiling but holding a hand up to his brow. “I’m definitely making sure to lock that thing when I leave, now.”

With a barely repressed snort, Crutchie leans over, nudging Jack with his elbow. “But what if someone’s already done it?”

The look on Jack’s face, the cackling that explodes from everyone else, is worth the shove on his shoulder. Which hurt,  _ow_ , he forgot Jack works out.

Another small burst of laughter ensues, and the topic starts changing onto the next round. It’s JoJo’s time to shine, and from the look on his face, he’s trying to come up with something just as good as the prompt before it. Romeo and Elmer start calling out suggestions, but before the others can start chiming in, someone interrupts them.

“Hold it!”

Everyone’s heads snap back to Racetrack. He’s moved onto his knees now, making him taller than everyone else sitting down. His index finger is held up in the air matter-of-factly, and the expression on his face is nothing short of proud.

“I know for a  _fact_  that someone who should have taken a shot,  _didn’t_.” His gaze sweeps around the group. “Now whoever you are, I’m not gonna call you out. You can do it yourself.” He settles back, content to wait. Everyone’s quiet, eyes darting around as they look around their circle of friends. Four people could already be counted out, along with Race and maybe Jack, too. His reaction certainly  _seemed_  to suggest he hadn’t thought about it. So who could the other person be? Crutchie squints, examining the faces around him. Everyone else certainly appeared to be as curious as the next, so then…

In the corner of his eye, Crutchie just barely makes out someone wilting. He turns his head to look, and–

Davey gives a small, miserable sigh before downing a shot.

“Davey!” Jack exclaims, the shock and betrayal in his voice making the whole situation so much funnier. Everyone explodes, folding in on themselves, smacking something, or going red-faced from just how hard they’re laughing. Crutchie himself has his arms wrapped around his stomach, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Oh, God, his stomach  _aches_ , and he fights to regain his breath. Everyone else sounds about in the same boat as he is, and this time it takes a lot longer for the laughter to die down. As soon as things quiet down enough, they move on to Romeo’s round, and individual conversations are easier to hear on their own. As Crutchie’s glance sweeps around the circle, he sees Davey and Jack – one of them beet-red, the other giving his boyfriend a reproachful (if amused) sideways look. Most of the other guys seem okay, and….most importantly, he takes note of the little shit who almost killed all of them about 5 minutes ago.

“Told you I wasn’t targeting you.” Race turns to look at Spot, face scrunched up in a smarmy, overdramatic smile. From his side of the circle, Crutchie rolls his eyes. Honestly, Racetrack – his eyes are basically shut, he was milking this so hard.

Spot rolls his eyes as well. “Yeah, yeah,” he hums, shoving playfully at Race’s shoulder. “Guess I was wrong this time. I ain’t doing that again, though.”

“Aw, you say that now,” Race coos, grinning. Spot just snorts and goes back to the game. As Crutchie watches, Race laughs as well, keeping the smug grin trained on his boyfriend before turning away. Instantly, the egotistical facade drops. His eyes widen at the floor, looking shaken, like he was almost caught. He casts a wary sideways glance at Spot, and Crutchie can’t fight the snort that escapes. Instantly, Race’s eyes flash over to him, the warning glinting in them perfectly clear.

Crutchie just smiles, shrugging before tuning back in to what’s happening in the game. Don’t worry, Race. Your secret is safe with him.

For now.


	2. Rude Awakening (Sprace)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this Vine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Sj7tlZ570w/) . 
> 
> This is what happens when I don't have any original ideas. I've hit a brand-new low.

“WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD!”

The yell jolts Race from sleep,causing his heart to freeze an entire beat as adrenaline surges through his body _._  His eyes fly open, but instead of vision, he’s instantly blinded by his illuminated bedroom light. They immediately snap back closed as he sits up, trying to get some idea of what’s going on. Relying on the split-second his eyes were open, Race faces Albert’s general direction as he brings his hands up to rub at his face, slurring “Wuzz goin’ on?” Something moves behind him, but he pays it no heed as he tries to regain his basic capacities of vision.

“..What the  _fuck_ , dude?”

Spot Conlon’s voice, rough and hazed over with sleep, drifts out from behind his back.

**_…SHIT._ **

Panic seizes in Race’s chest with the comprehension that, in his jarring wake-up call, he’d totally forgotten Spot was in his bed too.

He can hear the exact moment the realization hits: Albert wheezes almost immediately, an astonished peal of laughter escaping before the sound of footsteps scramble to retreat back the way they came. The bedroom door slams into its frame before bouncing back open from force, and Race can hear Al’s footsteps flee down the hallway like his life depends on it – which, due to recent events, might actually be true  _very soon_.

As the footsteps fade down the hall, Race continues to squint at the swinging door, watching as its momentum begins to run out. It drifts to a stop, and Race stares for a moment longer before groaning, flopping back onto the mattress and slinging an arm over his eyes to block out the light from above. “The fuck jus’ happened?” he groans, shifting his arm just enough to peek at Spot before shielding his vision again.

Spot doesn’t answer right away – he merely hums before slumping back over onto his stomach and burying his face in his pillow. “Your roommate’s a dick,” he eventually grunts, the words muffled and slightly difficult to understand. Race hears Spot’s comment well enough, though, and it prompts him to snort softly.

“Yeah.”

“He usually like that?”

“Uhhh….depends on th’ day,” Race mumbles, shrugging despite the fact Spot won’t see it. “We’re all kinda dicks.”

Spot makes a sound similar to a  _hmph_. “Next time, we’re going back to my place.”

“‘Next time’?” Shifting his arm again ever-so-slightly, Race peeks out at Spot from the corner of his eye. “So I haven’t ruined my chances yet?”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Spot teases. He turns his head, just barely cracking open his eyes to look at Race. “Albert ain’t your fault, but I’d say this puts ya on thin-fucking-ice.”

“….That ain’t a  _no_ ,” Race points out. After pausing to consider it, his head bobs before he covers his eyes back up again. “I’ll take it.” He hears the muffled sound of a laugh, and he can’t help his own smile. Quiet falls for a moment, but it doesn’t last for long as Race tries to get comfortable. It’s impossible – with the damn light on, there’s no way he’ll be able to fall asleep. But the switch is across the room, next to his door. And Godknows he doesn’t want to get up. With a huff, Plan 2 is implemented with a questionable chance of success.

“Heyyy, Spot?” Next to him, Spot gives a small questioning hum.

“Do me a favor and shut the lights off?”

“… _Fuck_  no.” Emphasizing his point, Spot rolls over, pulling the blanket over his head as if disappearing from view completely settles the matter. It doesn’t, of course, and Race is left squinting at the back of Spot’s head.  _Dick_. Maybe if he tries hard enough, Spot will feel the glare boring into the back of his head?

“Well, fuck you too.”

“Already did,” comes the reply from under the blanket, though it’s barely audible. Nevertheless, Race huffs again, hauling himself up and rolling out of bed. God, this is fucking  _awful_. He’s still blind as hell – and as he makes his way across the room, Race prays he doesn’t run into anything through the bright blur that constitutes his squinted vision. After blindly groping for the door, he finally manages to snag it, pushing it closed and  _making sure to lock it this time_  before he flicks the light switch off. The darkness is a saint; the relief is instant, and Race can’t help but sigh, letting his head fall forward and hit the door with a soft thump.

Between the dark room and what nice support the door is providing, he’s tempted to fall asleep right there on his feet. Memories of the last time he had tried doing that resurface, though, and _boy_  he’s not eager to repeat that experience. With a sigh, Race turns and trudges back across the room, flopping back onto the bed as soon as his knees bump into the side of the mattress. He doesn’t bother getting back under the covers – he’s too tired. He can fall asleep just fine on top of the blankets. At least, he would be able to, until it pulls tight underneath him a few moments later. What…?

Spot.  _Blanket-hogging little shit_. With a small groan, Race rolls over in Spot’s direction, maximizing his blanket area while trying to swat away the prying hands.

“Tony.”

“Mmmh.”  _Stoppp._  The blanket underneath him is tugged again, but Race still doesn’t bother looking up at his bedmate. Instead, he wills himself to grow heavier in an effort to keep the blanket from sliding away from him. “Whaaat?”

“C'mon, Tony. Y'can’t lay on top'a the covers.”

Oh, please. He  _can_  and he  _will_. “Watch me,” he grumps into the mattress. There’s a sigh, so he figures that’s that – but then the blanket pulls taut beneath him again, sliding him along with it. He jostles against Spot, and with the new barrier in the way there’s enough leverage for the blanket to be ripped out from underneath him.

“Hey!” Race sits up, but before he can say anything the blanket is lobbed at his head, leaving him with a mouthful of fabric. Sputtering, he wrestles the blanket out of his face while Spot sounds like he’s dying of repressed snickering. “You  _ass_ ,” Race spits once he finally untangles himself. There’s no venom behind his words, however, which prompts Spot to laugh again.

“Yeah, s'nice, ain’t it?”

He can’t help the snort that escapes. “Aw, shut up,” he hums, weakly batting at Spot’s shoulder. As the residual chuckles die down, the blanket gets straightened out and they both slide back down onto their sides, getting comfortable once more. Silence settles once again, but something on Race’s mind keeps him from being able to close his eyes. He plays with a seam on the blanket, thinking.

“…hey, Spot?

”..Yeah?“

”…’m'sorry 'bout Al,“ he mumbles into his pillow. "I didn’t know he’d do that.” He pauses. “Swear to God, ’m gonna fuckin’ kill 'im.” Spot hums a sleepy affirmative, and Race can feel an arm slide over his back. Obliging the silent request, he rolls onto his side and wiggles backwards, allowing Spot to pull him closer. His back presses against Spot’s chest, and moments later Race feels the arm around him tighten as something burrows into the crook of his neck.

“Tell me when y'do,” Spot mumbles into his skin. “I’ll help hide the body.”

Chuckling softly, Race feels the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “My hero.” Spot just hums – it was hard to make out, but it sounded like an amused (yet exasperated) _'Yeah, yeah’_. The conversation fizzles after that, lapsing into a comfortable quiet. The feeling of Spot’s body pressing against his back is comforting, and Race can feel sleep pulling at him again. He’s almost asleep,  _almost_ , when Spot (who apparently was  _not_  asleep like he had thought) speaks, voice softer than Race has ever heard it before.

“Why did he have his phone out?”

Despite his eyes being closed, Race resists the urge to roll them and groan.“Go the  _fuck_  to sleep-…who? Al? ”

Spot huffs, giving small little nods into the crook of Race’s neck. “’M just  _wonderin’_ ,” he insists. “His phone was out – looked like he had a camera or somethin’ up-”

“He probably wasn’t,” Race says. Mentally, he makes a note to talk to Al about this later. “Al’s an  _idiot_ , but he ain’t stupid. He’s prob'ly just talkin’ to JoJo – he’s outta town, promised to video call in the morning.” He sighs, pressing back against Spot’s chest to try and calm some of the worry. “Kid likes to say 'hi’ to both of us. Al was probably gonna be a dick 'n wake me up to say hi. Okay?”

The silence that follows answers for him. With a sigh, Race wiggles an arm out of Spot’s embrace, trailing his fingers down the path of his bedmate’s arm. “Spot, I’m serious. He was probably just talkin’ to JoJo. But….I’ll talk to 'im later, okay?” A hesitant hum sounds from behind him, so Race just chalks it up as a success.

“So…does this mean we have to kill JoJo too?”

The voice is small, nearly inaudible, and the question itself makes Race pause and consider. “…Don’t you dare,” he warns. “He’s got nothin’ to do with this. Ya kill him, I’ll have to kill you too.”

“Kill me too? Tony.” Even if he can’t see it or hear it that well, Race is able to tell that the idea is enough to ease Spot’s worry and make him laugh. It rumbles through his chest, and the vibrations against Race’s back bring a smile to his face. Spot’s grip tightens again as he pulls himself up a little, and Race lets out a small yelp as lips press into the skin of his neck, tickling him ever-so-slightly. “Please,” Spot’s voice hums, barely audible in his ear. “I’d like to see you try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on Tumblr!: [@schmilliam](https://schmilliam.tumblr.com/)


	3. Late Shift (Newsbians)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if you can't tell this is my first time writing Newsbians, Kath, OR Sarah, then I guess I did better than I thought

When Sarah walks through the door to her apartment, she’s only half-surprised to see the lights still on. Shutting the door heavily behind her, she slumps back, leaning against it for a moment as the weight of being home finally settles, and the pressure of the workday slides off her shoulders.

Working late shift really sucked sometimes.

Most of the time.

_All_  of the time.

Sighing deeply, she toes off her shoes, shoving them off to the side. Katherine’s going to chastise her tomorrow for sure for not putting them away, but at the moment, Sarah doesn’t really care. Peeling off her socks, Sarah tosses them back vaguely in the direction of her shoes. The relief of bare feet on the floor will be worth the double-scolding she’ll for-sure receive.

….Tomorrow. She’ll deal with it tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow…

“Kath?” She calls quietly.

No response.

Venturing out from the entryway, Sarah moves into the kitchen, setting her keys down on the counter along with the tip money she digs out of her pocket. From her vantage point, looks like Katherine wasn’t waiting up on the couch like she did sometimes when Sarah worked late, and it’s obvious the coffeemaker isn’t brewing a late-night disaster – it’s not even on. So maybe Katherine went to bed and forgot to turn the lights off again?

It happens often enough – and it’s not like Katherine doesn’t have a history of switching gears mid-task. Too many times, she’s been in the middle of something before bolting to go find a pen and a scrap of paper, or diving for her phone to write something down before whatever thought she’s having flies through her head, leaving nothing but letters and a wisp of a phrase. She often jumps from thought to thought, getting derailed from her original task. If you ask Sarah, it’s one of the best qualities she had fallen in love with – it was so genuinely Katherine, she wouldn’t give back the exasperation and the amusement it caused if she wanted to.

So that means it probably happened again.

Chuckling softly to herself, Sarah shakes her head, scribbling a quick note and leaving it on the counter before going to shut off the lights. It’s not like she minds all that much – she doesn’t, really – but they  _do_  live in an apartment, after all. They have a power bill they need to pay somehow. With the lights off in the main area, it’s now easy to see the beams of light extending out from the door down the hall. And as Sarah makes her way down the hall, she prepares herself for three different outcomes: number one, Katherine at her desk, working; number two, Katherine at her desk, working but passed out; and number three, Katherine in bed, reading a book or writing.

As it turns out, Outcome #2 is the winner. As Sarah pushes open the door, it’s obvious that Katherine Pulitzer, her wonderful girlfriend of 2 years, has fallen asleep on her keyboard. Again.

Pressing her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing too loudly, Sarah just stands, giving herself a moment to take in the scene. It only lasts a second, however, before something on the screen flickers, drawing her attention. With a jolt of amusement, she realizes the cause – Kath’s elbow is leaning against one of the keys. The screen flickers again, and this time it’s easier to make out the continuous lines of the letter “n” scrolling across the page.

Yep, she definitely passed out on accident.

After taking a moment to compose herself, Sarah finally takes a breath, padding over quietly to nudge her girlfriend’s shoulder. “Kath,” she says gently. “Kath, come on, wake up.” For her efforts, Sarah gets a disgruntled hum as Katherine turns her face further into her arms. “Hey, no – come on, you fell asleep at your desk again.”

“Don’ care,” Katherine mumbles. “’S comfy.”

Sarah just sighs, rolling her eyes. “It’s gonna kill your back. And then you’re gonna complain, which  _I’m_  going to have to listen to tomorrow morning-” She’s interrupted by a loud sigh.

“Hard to tell you’re Davey’s sister,” she remarks. Sarah just rolls her eyes.

“Hey, I’m much more fun than he is,” she says, giving Kath’s shoulder a light pat. “We agreed on that at least four separate times. I’m offended.” Sighing, she shifts focus to the screen, which had stopped spouting letters since Kath moved her elbow. “How long’ve you been asleep?”

“Uh-..twenty minutes?” Katherine’s shoulders twitch in the barest attempt of a shrug. “Dunno exactly. You weren’t home yet…”

There’s a moment of silence as Sarah totally doesn’t raise her eyebrow skeptically. “Your draft is 78 pages long,” she points out. As she watches, Katherine’s eyebrows twitch before finally furrowing.

“Hm?” she hums, eyes not even open as she frowns. Rubbing at her face, Katherine squints at the screen silently before abruptly sighing, burying her face in her arms again. “Dammit,” she groans, and Sarah can’t help but laugh.

“It’s okay,” she prods, trying to nudge Kath into getting up. “Come on, just save it and then you can fix it tomorrow.” Kath just groans.

“No,” she groans. “That’s not- it was  _six_  pages, last time I-…How long was I…?”

Sarah can’t help but smile. “Too long,” she giggles. “Come on, I’ll save it for you. You get ready for bed, okay?”

“You’re the best,” Katherine hums. She sighs, pressing her lips to Sarah’s cheek as she slips away to the bathroom. Smiling to herself, Sarah saves the document Katherine was working on before logging off and shutting down the computer. By the time she’s finished, Katherine’s finished taking her contacts out, and both of them get ready for bed in comfortable silence. They all but fall into bed together, their limbs tangling almost immediately after the blanket is pulled up. And as Sarah pulls Katherine closer, her heart swells as Kath hums sleepily and links their hands together. She presses a kiss to Kath’s shoulder, eyes shutting as she finally gives in to the demand to sleep.

Yes, working the late shift sucked sometimes.

_Most_  of the time.

But sometimes, the moments like these made the crummy scheduling worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on Tumblr!: [@schmilliam](https://schmilliam.tumblr.com/)


	4. No Love from Me (Bowery Beauties)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idea originally from @crystallizedtwilight's Tumblr [here](https://crystallizedtwilight.tumblr.com/post/173993487743/bowery-beauty-headcanon-that-every-girl-except/)

When she initially began working in the Bowery’s Vaudeville Theatre, Bernadette Thompson quickly learned that the job attracted a certain type of crowd. She had been expecting it, of course. Working as a burlesque girl, there were bound to be…suitors, many of which would belong in the ‘undesired’ variety. She’d learn to manage them – after all, in her mind, it was essentially no different than brushing off flirting strangers in the street. However, she wasn’t expecting the other girls to take her under their wing so quickly. Even as she was suiting up for her first night onstage, the rest of the Beauties were anxious to cram whatever wisdom they could into her brain.

“Now, Medda usually keeps a decent house-” The girl named Hattie chattered, glancing up from the mirror where she was applying rouge to her cheeks.

“It’s just, there’s always going to be a few…” Lucy continued, brows furrowing as she puzzled with how to finish the rest of her sentence. “How should I say this nicely… _persistent_  gentlemen?” She looked over at Hattie, who just shrugged in response.

Bernadette blinked before pulling her hair over one shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said, gathering it on top of her head. In the corner, Irene snorted from her chair.

“That’s the spirit,” she said, distracted with tying up her heeled boots. “Don’t let them scare you. You’re going to be okay. Everyone in that audience respects Miss Medda. And if they mess with her girls…” She stood up, and for a moment Bernadette was stunned by how regal Irene looked in her knee skirt, the pale yellow contrasting beautifully with her dark skin. “Well, let’s just say Medda is respected for a reason.” She smiled, and the knot of tension in Bernadette’s chest loosened the slightest bit.

Maybe…it would be okay here.

Struggling with pinning her hair up, Bernadette lost track of the conversation over the next couple minutes. As such, she apparently completely missed Lucy and Irene leaving the room. It was only until Hattie’s voice, sharp and chirpy as it was, called her name several times over that she tuned back in to her surroundings.

“Hm?”

“Did'ja even hear-? Nevermind.” Hattie stepped up behind her, gently pushing her around and down into a chair before beginning to pin Bernadette’s hair up. “I said, you know what we do to keep us safe, right?”

She almost shook her head before remembering it was being stabbed with hairpins. “No, I don’t,” she said instead, looking up at Hattie in the mirror. Hattie blinked, meeting her gaze for a second before shrugging, a kind smile forming on her lips.

“That’s alright,” she said. “Just had to be sure. Basically, if somebody asks for us and we don’t want to see 'em, we just give 'em a different name. Like me, I’d tell 'em my name’s Patti.”

“That’s close enough to your real name,” Bernadette pointed out.

“Easier for me to remember.” With a smile, Hattie pinned up a final lock of hair before taking the feather headpiece and situating it onto the mess of curls. “The other gals can tell you their names later. Best if you think of one by the end of the night 'case we need it. They love a new face up there.” Giving the headpiece one last wiggle, Hattie’s hands dart away, clapping excitedly. “All done!” she exclaimed, and Bernadette can’t help but smile at her reflection in the mirror.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, it was no problem, sweetie. Look at you – you’re gorgeous!” Maneuvering carefully around her work, Hattie squeezed Bernadette’s shoulders in a version of a hug. “You’re gonna be great tonight, I absolutely cannot  _wait_  to hear you sing- oh!” Hattie startled, making Bernadette jump as well. In the distance, the stage manager’s barking voice could be heard yelling for stagehands and the opening act’s performers. “The show’s about to start! We better get goin’!” Bernadette’s hand was snatched up, and she suddenly found herself being pulled out of the dressing room door, into the wings and what she was sure to be a fast new friendship.

* * *

She was right.

She and Hattie quickly grew to be inseparable. Hattie helped excite her life, making her take risks where Bernadette would have normally shied away, providing volume where silence would have smothered, and otherwise breathing a lightness to the mundane that Bernadette lived in once she shed her stage persona. And the other Bowery Beauties – all of whom had now affectionately dubbed her “Birdie” – grew to be her friends too. Birdie learned that Irene, being the oldest of the lot (aside from Medda), was the most well-spoken and well-read of the group. Every movement she made had purpose, contributing to the distinguished air about her, though Birdie also knew she was prone to little pranks that were hidden behind a mischievous, tight-lipped smile. And Birdie discovered that Jennie was polite to a fault, and had the bright eyes and warm smile to match.  Of all the girls, she was the one most asked for – though most of the men looking for 'Frances’ never met her again. The poor sods – looking for company with the wrong sort of crowd. Their sisters, though…

…the women might stand a chance with Jennie, if they stuck around after performances like the men did.

“I’m sorry,” Birdie finds herself saying again, for what may be the millionth time. Does the number matter? No – she wasn’t counting in the first place. But maybe she should have. The number of times she’s 'apologized’ on the behalf of one of the girls had to be astoundingly high. She’d be interested to know the total already. “Patti isn’t here anymore – she had to go right away. Bad news, family trouble, you know how it is.” She tilts her head in a gesture of sympathy, and her eyes glance over to the dressing room corner. Hattie, who’s pressed against the wall, is holding in her giggles with a shaking hand. The bachelor in front of the door sighs in disappointment, and Birdie’s attention snaps back to him. “I’ll tell her you stopped by though, okay?”

“Would you?” The man’s demeanor brightens a tad, and Birdie can feel her eyes mentally rolling.

“Of course, sir. Anything I can do to help.” She flashes a smile, and oh,  _oh_  – there he goes. He melts, completely believing it.

“Alright, thank you. My name is Louis. And…and just tell her she did lovely tonight. She did a marvelous job. Truly.”

Birdie nods, widening her smile by a fraction. “I will. She’ll appreciate the compliment.” She sighs, clicking her tongue. “Now if you excuse me sir, I’m sorry, but it’s getting late and I have to change…”

“Oh! Of course.” He tips his hat, murmuring a farewell before Birdie closes the door. Immediately, she presses her ear to the wood, listening for the footsteps tapping against the floor.

“Is he-?” Comes the whisper, but Birdie holds a finger up, cutting it off. The steps fade away after a moment, and a second later she relaxes. “He’s gone,” she says, straightening up and reaching to remove her headpiece. The giggles explode from the corner seconds later, and Birdie rolls her eyes, unable to keep the smile from her face as she walks to her mirror.

“I can’t believe you let him follow you back here,” she teases.

“I didn’ know he followed me!” comes the mock-outraged reply. “He musta seen me in the distance and decided ta try his luck.” Birdie simply laughs, shaking her head as she digs out all the hairpins buried in her updo.

“I can’t believe I had to cover for you like  _that!_  And the fact that he  _believed_  it-” she shakes her head, dropping a few hairpins down on the counter. “-when he  _saw_  you go backstage- you are  _so_  lucky, Hattie Anderson, if he pressed any further I wouldn’t have  _known_  what to do with myself-”

Hattie laughs, coming up behind her and wrapping her arms in a hug around Birdie’s neck. “I know, I know,” she titters. “You’re the greatest, you’re the best, you’re the best friend a girl could have-”

Birdie snorts. “You butterin’ me up?”

“No, I’m just tellin’ the truth-”

She scoffs. “I’m sure. Y'know what, next time  _you_  can answer that door, see what it takes to get the next guy away from you-”

“Oh, please! You know I’m not half as whimsical as you are-”

“You call  _that_  whimsical?!” Her mouth hurts from smiling, but as the night goes on and the banter continues, Birdie knows in her chest that she’ll continue answering that door, so long as the rest of the Beauties need her to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on Tumblr: [@Schmilliam](https://schmilliam.tumblr.com/)


	5. Time to Spare (Spromeo/SpecsRomeo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romeo's back at school, bored and lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I still don't know which version of the name people use more. Oh well.  
> Also, I don't know why it turned into Spromeo, so. Hope I didn't do the boys dirty.

It‘s 2:30 PM, and Romeo is already bored to tears.

 

Outside his window, the January sun shines brightly, the sight at odds with the blistering winds and biting temperatures. With the outdoors being a living hell for any unfortunate soul who had to venture out, and with a lack of responsibilities for the rest of the day, Romeo finds himself holed up in his room. At this point, Netflix seemed the best option to kill time, but as the show progresses not even John Mulaney can ease the inattentive buzzing in the back of his mind. But whatever. It‘s something to do, and it passed time.

 

…not quickly enough, it seems. The show ends, and Romeo glances down at the screen’s clock again, sighing before absently clicking on the scroll bar and scanning through the next set of choices Netflix presented to him. After a moment he huffs, sliding down a little in the uncomfortable desk chair and clicking on a preview at random. As his eyes glaze over the summary, his phone dings, the noise sharp through the stuffy silence, and he scoops it up almost desperately.

 

 **Handsome:**   _u busy?_

 

A smile threatens to erupt as Romeo quickly unlocks his phone to respond.

 

_Never too busy for you_

 

 **Handsome:**   _can i call?_

 

_ofc_

 

Setting his phone down on his desk, Romeo has barely untangled himself from the blanket wrapped around him before his phone screen lights up, the ringtone cutting through the air. After a minute he stands, muttering “Yeah, yeah,” under his breath and kicking the blanket under his desk a little. Taking his phone again, his thumb swipes across the screen and he grins as Specs’ face flashes into view a minute later.

 

“Hey!” he greets, taking a few steps before flopping back onto his bed. His chest twinges a little as Specs smiles back, and Romeo tries to brush the lonely feeling away.

 

“Hey. How ya doin’?”

 

“Oh, fine, ya know. Third day of rehearsals, but who’s counting, huh?” He shrugs, quickly rolling his eyes before focusing once more on the screen. Specs must have found something to prop his phone against, given he was now leaning his chin on his hand.

 

“Yeah? Those goin’ good then?”

 

“I guess. First day was pushed back an hour, and then tonight’s got cancelled. So. I’m just kinda… sitting here.”

 

Specs stares at him a moment, and he doesn’t know if it’s the crappy dorm connection, or the lighting, or what, but he could swear Specs was trying to hold back a grin. “... bored?”

 

Romeo rolls his eyes, head dropping back as he falls into his pillows. “ _God_ , I’m  _so_  bored!” he groans. “Rehearsal’s the only reason I had to come back early, and the only other thing I have to do is finish cleaning up my room — but I got two weeks to do that ‘til Buttons shows up anyway, so of  _course_  I’m not gonna do that now-”

 

And after a minute or two of rambling, he catches himself mid-sentence. “... sorry, I should stop. How’re things goin’ with you?” He barely catches the tinny-sounding sigh through the phone speaker.

 

“They’re okay. I mean, same as usual, mostly. Still workin’.” Specs pauses, and after a moment finally admits, “... kinda quiet, without you around. It’s...kinda weird.”

 

“Yeah? It’s quiet here, too. Since nobody’s back yet. But… hey, guess what?”

 

“What?”

 

His smile softens, and his chest twinges again, wishing he could be at home with his boyfriend instead of being back at college so soon. “Two weeks. That’s all ya gotta wait ‘til you get back.”

 

Specs sighs again, the frown giving way to a small smile that Romeo could  _juuuuuust_  barely see, if the screen was lit just right. “I know...” Romeo watches as he glances down to the table before his face comes up again. “Is it bad to say I kinda miss you already?”

 

 _“Aww,_  you miss me?” Specs just rolls his eyes at the teasing, prompting a grin out of Romeo. “Turnin’ into a softie, Specs. Wasn’t expecting that outta you-“

 

“Fine, just forget I said anything.”

 

“No, no!” Romeo huffs, shaking his head in mock scandal. “You said it, you can’t take it back!” Sitting back, he grins at the screen, letting the moment die down before adding, “... I miss you too. Like I said, it’s quiet without you guys around.”

 

“Well...has Race gone back yet?”

 

“Race? Nah.” Romeo shakes his head. “He and Spot are comin’ up next weekend, I think. I dunno, he woulda told me if he was back at his place.”

 

“Right,” Specs sighs. “Well, you should go see him when he comes back. So you’re not just sitting in your dorm all alone for so long.”

 

“What’re you, my mom?”

 

Through the mediocre sound quality, he thinks he hears Specs snort. “No, but I think I’m allowed to be worried about you. Ya know, as your boyfriend and all.”

 

“Ohh, that’s  _right_. As my  _handsome, charming, dashing-“_

 

“Ro.”

 

_“-caring, extremely talented, gorgeous-“_

 

_“Romeo.”_

 

_“-kind and thoughtful boyfriend-“_

 

Specs’ face drops into his hands as he groans.  _“Stop.”_  Which was cute, really. Romeo loved doing this, flattering his boyfriend to no end. In fact, he just laughs as Specs talks again. “You’re  _awful.”_

 

“But I’m just bein’ honest,” he answers innocently. There’s the sound of a huff, and Specs comes out of hiding enough to glare at his phone. Romeo just smiles.

 

“That’s what you always say.”

 

“Well. Guess it must be true then, huh?” He winks, laughing at the rolling eyes he gets in response.

 

“Right, yeah. Anyway, if you’re done  _flirting_  with me...I know you’re busy and all, but..you mind if I bother you for a little while longer?”

 

Well, it didn’t take long to figure that one out. “I could think of nothing better.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me at my tumblr!: [@Schmilliam](https://schmilliam.tumblr.com/)


End file.
